


Step Three

by ChokolatteJedi



Series: x6325 [10]
Category: Chuck (TV), White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e11 Checkmate, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Neal Caffrey & Bryce Larkin Are Twins, Neal Caffrey Whump, New York City, POV Multiple, Phone Calls & Telephones, Protective Bryce, Protective Neal Caffrey, Treasure Hunting, Twins, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/pseuds/ChokolatteJedi
Summary: Neal figures out who Keller is after: can he get there in time? (x6325 version of Checkmate)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: x6325 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119584
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Step Three

**Author's Note:**

> Some lines are quoted from the episode. Not 100% pleased with Bryce in this one, but... I really just want to finish this so I can get on with the series.

Neal was tired, and looking forward to going home and crashing out — not that sleep had come that easily the past week — but he had a stop to make first. He had a casserole dish that he had to give back to El, and this morning it had seemed like a good day to take care of that errand. Normally, Neal would give them to Peter to take home, or even just invite himself over for dinner, but Peter had been freezing him out all week.

The problem was Phil Kramer — head of DC Art Crimes — who had gotten word of a Degas for sale in New York. After Neal had gotten Mozzie the manifest, he had stepped back from anything to do with the treasure, so while he knew there was at least one Degas on the list, Neal had no idea if it was the one that had surfaced.

Surely Mozzie wouldn't fence something on the list: Neal wasn't sure if this was a feint, a mistake, or a coincidence, but the connection to the U-boat treasure was making Peter grumpy and paranoid as hell. Kramer wasn't helping either, constantly needling Neal. The whole thing was exhausting, and that was on top of the stress of trying to figure out Keller's next move.

Neal had left Alex a voicemail, but hadn't heard back. Bryce was keeping an eye on Sara, and Neal knew that Jones and Diana were watching Peter's back. He'd done all he could, and yet Neal still felt like he was missing something. Without Peter or Mozzie to bounce ideas off of, and with Bryce staking out his girlfriend, Neal's mind was just running in circles on its own.

So, while Peter stayed late at the office with Kramer, Neal found himself in a cab to Brooklyn with a casserole dish and no idea what to do next. He didn't bother to repress his sigh.

"I hear ya, man," the cabbie said. "Lemme guess: girl troubles?"

"Work troubles," Neal said ruefully, hoping the less interesting topic would end the conversation quickly. Girl troubles were the furthest thing from his mind right now, other than worrying about Alex's condition, and Sara's safety, and—

The lightbulb went off.

Keller always thought he was smarter than everyone else, and he loved to show off his knowledge and planning, watching your face fall as you realized you'd lost. It was a hallmark of his chess game. The thing that had been bothering Neal about their conversation suddenly materialized clearly. Keller had gone after Alex, instead of any other fences they knew. He'd gone after Sara instead of Mozzie. _"We'll see how well you and Burke handle it when the shoe is on the other foot."_ Last time he'd kidnapped Peter — this time he was taking the _other_ Burke instead. He was going to take El!

Neal yanked his phone out of his pocket and called Peter, but the line was busy. "Listen, I just realized something," Neal told the cabbie as he fumbled in his pocket for his FBI credentials. "I'll double your money if you can get me there as fast as possible."

"Say what?" When the cabbie glanced at him in the rearview mirror, Neal flashed his ID.

"I'll double the money, but get me to that house yesterday!" Neal pulled out his wallet, ripped a hundred dollar bill free, and waved it at him. "deKalb, now!" he ordered.

Thankfully, something in his voice — or maybe just his credentials — must have convinced the man, because he grabbed the bill from Neal and then stomped on the gas pedal.

Sinking back into the seat, Neal tried Peter again, with no luck. Frustrated, Neal called his office line. This one wasn't busy, but it went to voicemail. "Peter, I figured it out: _the shoe is on the other foot_. He’s going after El this time. I’m almost at your house. Peter I swear I’ll protect her. And if worst comes to worst, remember step three.” Neal said quickly. Hanging up, Neal sent a quick text to Bryce, sharing his revelation. Then he tried calling El.

Thankfully, she picked up fairly quickly. "Neal?"

"El, you're in danger," he said quickly. "I think he's coming after you."

"Neal? What are you talk— hey, what are you doing in here?!" El's confusion morphed to fear as Neal realized he was too late.

"El, run!" he said urgently.

Her voice was muffled by distance, but Neal still heard a "get off of me" and a "Satchmo!"

The cab squealed to a stop and Neal realized they were there. "Stay here!" he ordered, hoping he'd be obeyed. "If I'm not back in 2 minutes call 911. Woman in trouble. Get the FBI." Throwing the car door open, Neal dodged an oncoming car and raced up the steps. The front door was open, and he could hear Satchmo barking. "El!"

He burst into the house, and found El struggling with a large thug. Neal raced to her side, swinging at the man. He dodged slightly, pulling El further away from Neal just as someone else slammed into Neal's side. They tumbled into the coffee table, with Neal rolling at the last second to ensure he was on top when they hit. Digging his elbow into the man's gut as they landed, Neal was gratified to hear his pained exhale as the breath was knocked out of him.

Neal staggered to his feet, and faced El's captor again, but before he could do anything, a silenced shot rang out. Seeing El's eyes widen, Neal slowly turned and saw Keller standing in the doorway, scowling, his gun aimed at Neal. As soon as Neal turned, he swung the gun towards El. Neal immediately jumped between them.

"I see you finally worked out my message," Keller said smugly. "I wanted to see your face when you figured it out, but this is almost as good. I won, Neal."

"Peter's on his way; you won't get far," Neal said, playing for time. The last thing he needed was for Keller to decide that El was disposable. "Unless…" 

"Unless?" Keller asked.

"You want the treasure, right?" Neal's mind raced, trying to figure out the right things to say. "That's your endgame, right? Kidnap El with the treasure as ransom?"

"You're just full of answers today," Keller taunted.

"Alright, I've got a counteroffer," Neal said. Damn, Bryce was going to kill him. "Let's say that I have the treasure. I'd make sure that any random person couldn't just walk up to it. If you wanted to get to it, you'd need me with you." Slipping his hand into his pocket, Neal slowly worked his phone open until he was able to press number one on his speed-dial. Hopefully Bryce would be able to hear him, or get a clear voicemail.

"And it seems that I have you," Keller pointed out, "so far I don't see the problem."

"Well, that's assuming I don't make a mistake: lead you in the wrong direction," Neal said. "But, if you let El go right now — let her get into the cab that's waiting outside and leave — then I'll show you right to it."

"You and the treasure for her?" Keller scoffed. "And what's to keep Agent Burke from tracking you down using your lovely accessory there?"

"I assumed that if you were going to kidnap me you'd already decided to cut it off," Neal shugged. "Anyway, that's the deal. If El gets into that cab unharmed, then I lead you to the treasure. If not, I'll fight you every step of the way."

"That's an interesting proposition, Neal," Keller seemed to think about it. "But what's to keep me from just shooting her and putting up with your uncooperative mood?"

"If you harm her, I will _never_ tell you," Neal said sharply. "If you shoot her, you'll have to shoot me too, and you'll never see the treasure."

Neal could tell that Keller was thinking about it, and he held his breath. He'd laid out his terms, and saying anything else could push Keller into making a bad decision, just to be contrary. Finally, he smirked. "Alright, Caffrey, we'll play it your way." He waved his gun at his minion. "Let her go."

"Oh Neal!" El slammed into his side a moment later. She was trembling, and Neal instantly wrapped his arm around her.

"El, I need you to get into the cab, alright?" Neal started to walk forwards, half-dragging El in his grip.

"Neal, I'm not leaving you!" she protested.

Keller smirked as they drew alongside him and then fell in behind, his gun poking into Neal's back.

"Yes, El, you are. Here," Neal slowly telegraphed his movements so that he wouldn't set off Keller's trigger finger and drew out his wallet. Pulling out another hundred, he tried to hand it to El, but she resisted.

"Neal, no, you can't do this." El resisted again. "What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about me," Neal reassured her blithely. As Keller was forced to back off slightly to keep from tripping them all down the stairs, Neal whispered in her ear. "I'll keep you safe."

"Do you even have a plan?" she whispered back.

"Sure. Lead him on a wild goose chase until Peter does what he does best: find me."

"None of that," Keller viciously jabbed his gun into Neal's back to stop their whispering.

To Neal's relief, the cab was still there, the door still wide open. Neal helped El climb inside, gently removing her hands when she clung to him. She still hadn't taken the bill, so once the door was closed, Neal held it through the open window. "Please take her back to where you picked me up," he said, hoping that his expression conveyed the right amount of… _something_ to get him to call the cops, or let El use his phone to call Peter. Could he have already called 911? Neal wasn't sure how long he'd been inside. Maybe he or one of the neighbors had heard the gunshot. Something. Anything.

"That's enough, Neal," Keller said, putting one hand on his shoulder and pulling him back into the gun.

"I'll see you later, El," Neal said, then nodded at the cabbie. To his relief, the man wasted no time in peeling away.

"Now it's just you and me Neal," Keller said with false cheer. "Just like the old days, huh?"

Neal didn't reply: he had no intention of playing the nostalgia game with Keller tonight.

Keller dragged Neal back into the house, where it appeared that his second man had finally caught his breath and gotten back up. Neal didn't see Satchmo anywhere and he hoped that they had just lured him outside, not done something worse.

"So, Neal, if you'd be so kind as to hand over your phone?"

Neal had hoped that Keller would overlook that, but no such luck. He managed to close it as he pulled it out of his pocket, hopefully hiding that it had been active until now. The shorter goon grabbed it and threw it on the floor, popping out the cover and battery.

"Now, about that anklet," Keller said. "This one doesn't look as easy to just 'cut' off, like your first one."

"Peter keeps a copy of the key in his safe," Neal said promptly. "It should only take me a few minutes to crack it."

"Hmm… I don't think we have a few minutes," Keller smirked.

"You're going to just leave it?" Neal knew that couldn't be the case, but he had no idea where Keller was going with this. Neal actually knew the code to Peter's safe, so it shouldn't take more than a minute to get the key.

"Well we can't have Burke tracking you that way," Keller said, grinning savagely. "So I'd suggest you hold still."

"What?" Neal's arms were roughly grabbed by the larger henchman — the one who had been holding El — as Keller pulled out his gun. "What are you doing?"

"Like I said," Keller aimed the gun at Neal's foot — no, at the anklet — "unless you want to lose that food, I'd hold still."

Neal froze. Protesting would do no good, not with Keller in this kind of mood. Then the gun was against his leg, the barrel an inch away from the anklet, angled to shoot through the top and out the bottom. Out towards Neal's foot.

Without warning Keller fired, and Neal felt a dim pain in his leg and ankle, overshadowed by a white hot pain in his foot. He let out an involuntary cry and sagged in the henchman's arms.

"There we go, no more green light," Keller said, sounding totally pleased with himself. "And now that your handlers know that you're off your leash, we'd better get going."

Neal was still caught in a haze of pain and shock, but thankfully Keller's goons didn't need him to walk. Slinging his arms over their shoulders, they dragged him out to the street, where Keller clearly had a car waiting.

"So, into the trunk, where we were going to put our first captive?" Keller asked conversationally.

"Only… if you think… you don't need me… to give you… directions," Neal managed to say. The initial shock was starting to fade, leaving him very aware of the throbbing pain in his foot.

"You make a good point," Keller allowed. "Backseat."

Neal was half-shoved, half-dumped into the backseat, and he tugged his legs in as quickly as he was able. Keller got into the front passenger seat, while the hulking goon took the driver's side. "Have the truck ready," Keller muttered at the one left behind, and Neal wondered absently where his ride was. "So, Neal, where to?"

"The Bronx: Mott Haven," Neal said. He'd figured out the first stop on their wild goose chase, and that was it.

"The Bronx is a little outside your radius, isn't it?" Keller turned to look at him, the gun clearly visible in the hand he steadied on the driver's seat.

"You don't think _I_ moved it… not with the Feds breathing down my neck… do you?" Neal managed. Pushing the pain away to focus on the task at hand was tricky, but he was managing it. He continued to pretend to be disoriented and in pain, however, hoping to make Keller lower his guard.

"Mozzie," Keller guessed.

"If it was… in my radius and I… went there a lot… Peter would notice," Neal bluffed.

"I might have underestimated you, Neal," Keller decided, before sliding back into his seat. "You heard him: take us to the Bronx."

oOo

Bryce watched the car pull away, doing his best to keep track of it on traffic and surveillance cams. He hadn't liked the way that Neal looked when he left the Burkes' the last time: far different than he had a moment before with El. Only a minute or two passed between the call ending and their exit, but Bryce knew something big had happened in that minute.

He wanted to curse the fact that he was on a rooftop outside of Sara's apartment, instead of at home with his desktop setup, or better yet at the local CIA lab, but Bryce didn't have time. He couldn't risk taking his eyes off of the camera panopoly long enough to drive anywhere, not if he wanted to keep track of Neal.

Idiot, noble, self-sacrificing Neal who had offered himself in Elizabeth Burke's place! Damn it! Part of Bryce wanted to kill him, but the other part knew he would do this. That was the same side of Neal who had sacrificed himself for Lindsey Gless, who hadn't given up Mozzie or Kate or the others at his trial, who had stood up to bullies more than once when they were younger.

Now Bryce was left to support him and pick up the pieces, as usual. As soon as they stopped, and he knew they would eventually — Neal had to have some kind of plan — then Bryce would be able to ease up on his surveillance. He could race home, check the FBI response, and set his whole system to the task of tracking Neal.

For now, all he could do was watch.

oOo

Neal knew that he had faded in and out of consciousness as they drove, with the occasional bump or pothole jerking him sharply back into wakefulness. His foot screamed in agony each time it was bounced that way, and Neal bit his lip bloody holding back his reactions.

Finally, Keller prodded him with his gun. "We're here; where to?" he asked.

Digging his nails into his arm helped Neal focus, and he managed to rattle off rough directions to Mozzie's dovecote. As the driver started to follow them, Neal added, "you know, I'll need to walk at some point. You want to stop by a pharmacy or something and pick up some crutches and bandages? Unless you want me to bleed out before you find the treasure."

Keller cocked his gun at Neal, glowering, but eventually seemed to decide that he was telling the truth. "If this stop pans out, I'll get you all the bandages you want, Neal," he offered.

It was as good an offer as Neal was going to get, so he took it, collapsing back into the seat until they got there.

When the car stopped, Neal propped himself back up on his elbows. "He's up there: on the roof. At least, he should be. I know he's there at dawn…"

"Who, Caffrey?" Keller snapped.

"Oh, a friend of Mozzie's," Neal explained. "I have to talk to him; I have to ask him for Estelle's key."

"Estelle, huh?" Keller looked skeptical. "And why don't we just hunt down this Estelle ourselves? Get the key direct?"

Neal couldn't stop himself from looking at Keller as though he was an idiot. "If you have any idea where to find Estelle, be my guest. I only know to ask the man on the roof. Then about half an hour later you return and he has the key. If he believes that you're a friend of Mozzie and Estelle, that is. If not, he won't tell you anything. That's why _I_ have to be the one to go."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Keller smirked. "I'll be going; you can stay here all cozy-like with _my_ friend." He turned to his man in the driver's seat. "If he tries to escape, shoot him in the other foot."

Neal sighed and sank back into the seat. He knew that the pigeoneer shouldn't be there until dawn; this was one of his ways to stall for time without seeming to. After a few minutes, Neal spoke to his guard.

"You know, when he sends you out to get crutches and things for me, you should… pick up some antibiotic ointment and bandages for your hand," he suggested.

"What?" the thug sounded confused. Had the man forgotten Satchmo's bite already?

"Well, Peter isn't the best… at keeping up to date with Satchmo's shots," Neal offered helpfully. "I wouldn't want your… hand to get infected from that bite." The more he could make the man spend, the better a chance he'd be forced to use a credit card: something that would leave a paper trail. "You'll want some filtered water to clean it too… and alcohol to sterilize it," he added as a deliberate afterthought.

"I'm fine," the man insisted.

"I'm sure you are… _now_ ," Neal agreed. "Look, I've worked with Keller before — I don't know if he mentioned it — and it didn't end well." Neal paused briefly to suck in a shaky breath: his foot was still throbbing. "It was a three-man job, just like yours now. Only the third guy thought for a moment that he dropped his ID… He hadn't, but Keller killed him before he could get it out of his pocket. What do you think Keller would do to you if you got… sick? Fevered? Delirious?"

"Yeah? Why tell me this?" he asked.

Neal shrugged as well as he could, scrunched down on the backseat. "I don't like violence. I'd rather not… see someone shot in front of me again if I can help it."

He closed his eyes, doing his best to slip into a meditative state. If Keller forced him to climb to the top floor before getting him crutches, Neal was going to need all the strength he could get. He also suspected that delivering the warning and then going back to silence would work better on this guy than telling more elaborate stories and reasoning.

Keller jerked the door open about fifteen minutes later, jolting Neal out of his resting state. "There's no one there, Neal," he said menacingly.

"You got the right roof?" Neal checked. "The one with all the birds?"

"Of course," Keller growled.

"Then I guess he's gone home for the night," Neal said. When Keller pulled his gun, Neal held up his hands defensively. "Look, I've never visited at night! I didn't plan this, okay? If you'd tried... to kidnap El during the day… we could have caught him before he went home."

"Funny," Keller spat, but Neal could see that he was considering his words. Finally Keller turned and slumped back into his seat. "Alright, we wait."

Neal wasn't sure how much time passed, but eventually he heard someone's stomach growl. It might have been his, for all he knew — he hadn't eaten dinner yet, and it was well after midnight. He was aware enough to hear Keller chuckle, and used that sound to draw his consciousness back to the car.

"Grant, go get something for us to eat, and some water bottles," Keller murmured to his goon — Grant.

"What about… bandages and stuff?" Grant asked hesitantly.

"Oh, might as well," Keller agreed. "Get him some crutches, too."

Relieved, Neal let himself drift off again.

oOo

As soon as Bryce saw the driver leave the car he was up and on his way to his own apartment. He had started packing when Keller returned but they didn't drive off: it seemed that whatever Neal had them looking for at this location, they were in for a bit of a wait. As long as the driver was out of the car, they were unlikely to take off again, and while keeping one eye on the feed, Bryce hoped he'd have the time to get back home.

Once there, he could make a better plan, and maybe even find a way to call in the calvary.

oOo

Peter looked out over the bullpen and frowned; he didn't like this. There were several things about tonight that he didn't like, but the primary one was that Keller had Neal.

Peter had seen the incoming calls from Neal while he was talking to El, but ignored them. When his desk phone rang immediately after, he'd let it roll to voicemail. This whole week, Peter had been ignoring Neal — shutting him out because he thought that the Degas might be the one from the manifest, which reminded him of his suspicions that Neal had stolen the treasure.

It didn't help that Phil Kramer — who had flown in from DC to consult on the case — didn't like Neal, and kept prodding at their relationship. When it turned out to be a completely different Degas, Peter had been a bit embarrassed about the way he had frozen out Neal. All the evidence he had gathered pointed to the fact that Neal didn't have the treasure, and yet every time he turned around, Peter was letting something or someone convince him that Neal did have it.

Guilt had kept Peter in his office at the end of the day, talking to Phil, instead of giving Neal a ride home. He had seen the very familiar casserole dish on Neal's desk that day, and he had seen the way Neal glanced between it and Peter's door before grabbing it and leaving for the night. Remembering why Neal had that dish just made Peter feel more guilty about his actions this week, stopping him from calling out to Neal and offering to take it home.

Instead, Neal had taken the dish to Peter's house himself, apparently walking in on Keller kidnapping El in the process.

Except that wasn't right, either. Neal had figured it out, according to El, and had made the cabbie get him there as fast as possible, according to his statement. Then Neal had walked in, knowingly, and traded himself for El, before getting her away to safety.

The sound of El's voice when she had called back still haunted Peter, even though he knew she was dozing safely on the couch behind him. When his phone had rung again, Peter had answered without looking, expecting Neal. El's terrified, "Peter! Keller tried to kidnap me. Neal traded himself for me — you've got to find him!" had cut right to Peter's core. Barely a minute after El called, Peter got the alert from the Marshalls that Neal’s anklet had gone offline. He didn’t even hesitate — Peter was certain that Neal hadn’t joined Keller and run.

Thankfully, Diana had still been at her desk, doing paperwork, as had Green. It had taken Peter only a few seconds to shout the news at them, demand they call everyone back to work, tell them to let the Marshalls know that Neal was a kidnap victim, not a fugitive, and get him traffic cams from the area around his house. He also insisted that Rice get her best people from missing persons in here, and to have Ruiz on standby regarding Keller's connections to the Russians. Peter hadn't even needed to hang up with El to do it. He kept her on the line, getting more information and calming her down, the entire ride back, and hustled down to the street to meet her once they got close.

He'd dragged the cabbie back upstairs as well, to give his statement, and eventually thanked him, not only for his speed in getting Neal there, but for waiting as requested, and then for giving El his phone so that she could sound the alarm. They'd also retrieved El's casserole dish, which she had placed back on Neal's desk as she sat there, watching his team work.

Almost worse than the kidnapping attempts — both on El and Neal — in Peter's mind, was when El relayed Neal's plan to him.

_"Lead him on a wild goose chase until Peter does what he does best: find me."_

Not only did Neal’s plan place far too much faith on Peter, given his actions this week, but it also made it pretty clear that he didn’t have the treasure. There was no “I’ll stall as long as possible until leading him there,” or “I guess I’ll have to give him the treasure.” No, if nothing else in the last months had proven it, Neal’s plan made it pretty clear that he didn’t have the treasure.

Peter also wasn’t thrilled with the way Neal casually traded his own life for El. Not that Peter wouldn’t do the same, but she was _his_ wife. El and Neal were, at best, good friends. Peter couldn’t help but think that, for Neal to offer this trade said something about how little he viewed his own worth.

Once, Peter would have said that Neal was brimming with self-worth, or at least self-confidence, but his reaction over the last few years to being loaned out to other agents had shown Peter that Neal was masking his own feelings on the topic. Every time he called himself a library book, or talked about how it was better to send in himself than risk an agent, Peter wondered. Now, Neal’s other assurance to El rang with the same worrying tone.

_”Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep you safe.”_

Because, damn it, Peter was worrying about Neal. And El was worrying about Neal. And Jones, and Diana, and probably half the office were worrying about Neal.

Peter was still frowning at the bullpen when his cell rang again. He glanced at the caller ID before opening it, feeling his heart drop slightly at the name. “Jones?”

“First off, Elizabeth was right about Satchmo; ERT got a blood sample from his muzzle and they’re going to analyze it as soon as possible.”

“Good, good,” Peter knew that tone of voice: he knew he wouldn’t like what Jones had to say next. “Now what’s the bad news?”

“Well, we found Neal’s phone here — smashed — so we can’t track that. But there’s something else. They found a bullet hole in your floor, with blood and little pieces of black plastic around it. There’s a small blood trail out of the house, too.”

The only thing Peter could think of, if Neal’s phone was already identified, was his anklet. “The anklet?”

“They aren’t sure, but Peter, I know that anklet, and it looks like the right texture and color.” Jones sighed.

“They shot it off,” Peter said numbly, his mind filling in the blanks. “They couldn’t cut it like the old one, so they shot it off — shot _him_.”

“They’d be more confident in their ability to contain him if he only had one good foot,” Jones added another perspective.

“Yes they would.” Peter’s eyes shot to the bullpen again, where Hawthorn was coordinating with the Marshalls. “Keep me posted, Jones, and I want those DNA samples rushed.”

“Already did,” Jones confirmed.

Peter stepped out onto the landing. “Hawthorn! I want you to amend the APB. Use Neal’s consultant photo, not his mugshot. Evidence at the scene shows that he is a hostage, not a co-conspirator. He’s also likely been shot in the foot, so people should be on the lookout for a man limping or on crutches,” Peter squelched the sorrow that rose within him as everyone gasped at the news.

“Rodriguez, I want every pharmacy and drug store in the city to know what’s going on. If they want to keep Neal from bleeding out they’re eventually going to need medical supplies. Plus, we know one of the perps was bitten, and El thinks one might have a bruised or cracked rib from the fight. These guys are gonna want bandages and painkillers too. Use NYPD to narrow those leads, but I’d rather have too many than miss one. Get me a hotline: I want this on the early news. Tell everyone in the city who and what we're looking for.”

Trying to think if he’d missed anything, Peter’s gaze fell on Neal’s desk, and the casserole dish. El had taught Neal her favorite fancy truffle casserole for him to take to Sara's the other night — something about making up to her for the trouble Keller had caused. “And someone get Sara Ellis in here. We need to figure out where Neal might lead these guys, and she’s one of our best bets.”

Turning, Peter found El standing just inside his office, her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes. “He was shot?” she whispered as he hurried back to her side.

“Jones thinks they tried to shoot the tracker off,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around her. “Now Hon, do you know Mozzie’s number? Or does Jones need to look it up on your phone?”

“I know it, but he’s visiting his friend back in Detroit,” El said, puzzled.

“Call him. Even if he can’t get here, he can help on the phone. You said Neal was going to lead them on a wild goose chase, which means we need to figure out where he’s going. I want you to coordinate with Mozzie and Sara when she gets here.”

“I understand,” El sat down at his desk and reached for his office phone, then hesitated. “You have a voicemail,” she pointed out.

Peter’s heart plummeted. Neal. Neal had called his office line after Peter had ignored him on his cell. Shaking, Peter pressed the replay button and quickly put in on speaker.

Neal, sounded frantic: “Peter, I figured it out: _the shoe is on the other foot_. He’s going after El this time. I’m almost at your house. Peter I swear I’ll protect her. And if worst comes to worst, remember step three.”

El had tears in her eyes again, and Peter quickly wrapped his arms around her. "Tell me that meant something," she begged.

"It did," Peter promised, mind racing as he tried to remember what, exactly, it meant.

"You'll bring him home?" El's tone was half questioning, half demand, and Peter nodded again.

"I will. Will you call Mozzie?"

El sniffled. "Yeah, I can do that."

oOo

Bryce had made it home just as the goon — who his facial recognition program now ID-ed as Leonard Grant — returned to the car. He had three stuffed CVS bags and a pair of crutches under his arm, which immediately worried Bryce.

He left the crutches leaning against the back door as he climbed into the driver seat, further confusing Bryce. Surely he wouldn't drive away with them there? After fifteen or so minutes, he climbed back out of the car with one bag, but this time Bryce could see bright white bandages wrapped around his right hand.

Moving the crutches, he opened the back door and crouched down. Bryce couldn't follow his exact motions, but he could get the gist. Grant was bandaging Neal's foot or ankle: Neal was who the crutches were for.

Bryce took several deep, meditative breaths to keep from doing something rash, like flinging his phone across the room.

Finally, he calmed down enough to start making rational plans again. Neal was on crutches, so any rescue plan that called for him to run or even walk away was right out the window. The crutches also meant that Keller still expected Neal to need to lead him on foot to the treasure. Neal was continuing to stall for time, and getting himself medical treatment — such as it was — in the process. Keller had to know that if Neal was unconscious or dead he wouldn't be any use, hence his agreement.

Reviewing the night in his mind, Bryce tried to figure out when Neal had been injured. It had to have happened during the two minutes unaccounted for within the house: Bryce would have seen a muzzle flash through the car windows otherwise. Since it had been just over five hours since they left the house, that meant that Neal had been losing blood for at least that long.

The other bags presumably held food and water: Keller also had to know that Neal was in danger of passing out from blood loss, and that he would need food and electrolytes to stave that off. Right now, the supposed knowledge about the treasure was what was keeping Neal alive and cared for. He was painfully reminded of his own bluff, that the Intersect was within him, which had served the same purpose. Unfortunately, the Intersect had been in Chuck, and Mozzie had already moved the treasure to the West Coast. Bryce just needed to get Neal out before he too became expendable.

Bryce had several monitors displaying the surveillance cameras in the White Collar office, and the recording devices that Samson had set up gave him ears on the inside. He knew Greg would text him if they discovered anything important, and Bryce would do the same.

As he heard Peter declare that Neal had been shot, and command his team to put out the word to pharmacies, Bryce knew that he had his way in without compromising Samson, or especially Neal. _Let me know as soon as that pharmacy hotline goes live._ he texted him.

As long as the car didn't move for a little while longer — Bryce suspected they were waiting either for sunup or businesses to open — he could use the cameras to backtrack Grant's progress and find the exact pharmacy.

oOo

Neal wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but he awoke with his foot in screaming agony. He finally figured out that Grant was taking his shoe off when he felt the cool air hit it. He had vaguely registered that his foot was swelling up earlier, but trying to untie and remove the shoe himself had just sent his pain level spiking. Now, with someone else doing it, Neal was free to let the pain swamp him, and he passed out again.

Some time later, he was rudely woken up again by someone tapping his face. Opening his eyes, he saw Grant leaning over him in the backseat. "Here," he thrust an open water bottle at Neal, then grabbed an open bottle of extra-strength Tylenol from the footwell and shook out a handful, holding them out on his palm.

Neal took four and quickly swallowed them back. The water was cool and wonderful, and he found himself chugging it. "Easy, Neal. Wouldn't want you to puke that all back up," Keller warned cheerfully.

It took everything Neal had to bite back a groan. For half a second he had forgotten that Keller was here, but his blissful reprieve was over. "Worried about your rental?" he snarked.

"Yes, actually, though I suppose you bleeding all over it has already burned my security deposit." Keller's hand reached over the seat and dropped a Gatorade and two protein bars onto the floor in front of Neal. "Eat up: I don't want you passing out on me once we're ready to go," he instructed.

Before Neal could reply, he felt his left leg being shifted, and looked down in time to see Grant bending his knee, maneuvering his foot back inside the car. Realizing that he had pulled it out into clearer space while caring for it, Neal took the opportunity to examine his injury.

His sock and shoe were gone, but even as Neal noticed that, Grant tossed them onto the footwell behind the driver's seat. This was followed by a depleted bag of medical supplies, two empty water bottles, and a pair of crutches, which were shoved up near his hand. Neal's foot and ankle were swollen to the mid-calf, and his pants had been cut along the seam halfway to his knee, clearly to stop them from cutting off his circulation. Next came the remains of the anklet, and Neal realized that he was lucky Grant had been able to finish cracking it apart — he'd hate to still be wearing that, as swollen as his ankle was. He was also somewhat grateful that that had been managed while he was unconscious, instead of having to be awake and feeling it.

Finally an ace bandage was wrapped around his foot and ankle, with a gauzy white one peeking out from beneath it. That was probably meant to make it look like a sprain, instead of a gunshot, Neal realized absently. The blood had been cleaned off of his toes, explaining why his foot had been hanging out the door — Neal could just imagine Keller bitching about bloody water spilling all over the seat. There were clearly several layers of padding under the gauze: Neal hoped it was enough to keep him from bleeding anymore. He caught sight of a half-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol in the bag, so he knew that at least Grant had sterilized the wounds.

Overall, it looked decently done. Neal would have preferred not to be shot, obviously, but Grant had done a reasonable job of wrapping him up. Grant finished loading the car and then, after making sure Neal's foot was clear — Neal jerked it back slightly, just in case — shut the door. As he climbed back into the driver seat, Keller finally turned back to the front, with one last command to "Eat, Caffrey."

Part of Neal was tempted to ignore him out of spite, but the wiser part knew that he had lost a lot of blood, and hadn't eaten in hours, and had just taken strong painkillers on an empty stomach. Neal ripped into the first protein bar.

oOo

As dawn was breaking, Bryce watched Keller leave the car and head back into the building they were camped outside of. Bryce had gotten the text from Samson twenty minutes earlier and checked that the 5 AM news was indeed covering the kidnapping before calling in to report a man with a bloody hand stocking up at the CVS down the block. Now Bryce just had to hope that Peter would arrive while Keller was out of the car, unable to use Neal as a hostage.

Less than ten minutes later he was back, however, and dragging Neal up to the door. Cursing under his breath, Bryce glanced back at the feeds of the FBI bullpen, but they were all walking around like normal. There was no evidence that they were gearing up for a neighborhood canvas.

He quickly texted Samson, _are you not getting tip line info?_.

 _Let me check_ , came the quick reply. On the monitors, Bryce watched as Samson walked over to talk to one of the clerks, who looked startled and then headed for the elevator. Bryce had already heard that they were using the existing phone bank in Missing Persons, down on seventeen, and he assumed that the clerk was heading there.

That done, Bryce refocused on his traffic cams.

It took five minutes for Samson to get the tip verified and trigger the neighborhood canvas. Unfortunately, it took forty minutes for the NYPD to get to the area where the car had been. Neal and Keller had returned in thirty. It did Bryce no good to know that a CIA team could have been there in ten: there was only so much he could get away with, in terms of commandeering CIA resources for Neal, and the hospital stay and therapy had used up all of his slack for quite a while.

Bryce could do nothing but continue to follow the car via traffic cams, even as NYPD discovered the pool of bloody water and discarded gauze wrapper in the gutter where the car had been.

oOo

Neal was somewhat unsurprised when Keller came stomping back to the car and jerked open the door by his foot. "He refused to tell me anything," he growled.

"Alright, let me—" he grabbed the crutches and started to push himself upright. "I told you he wouldn't believe you were Mozzie's friend," Neal reminded him when Keller looked ready to pull his gun out again.

Thankfully, Keller just snorted. "Yeah, you did. I guess I'm just not used to you telling the truth, Neal."

Neal ignored the insult in favor of painfully sliding out of the car. Thankfully the elevator inside worked, so he only needed to focus on walking down the hallways and up the final half-flight of stairs to the roof.

As expected, Neal found the dovecotes and the pigeoneer that Mozzie had described to him. His eyes widened when he saw Neal's crutches, and Neal hoped that the sympathy card might help him right now.

"Alright, I brought him," Keller huffed. "Now will you go get Estelle?"

Neal rolled his eyes and limped closer to the pigeoneer. "Hey there. I'm a friend of Mozzie's," he said politely. "He told me that if I ever needed it, I could come here and get Estelle's key."

"The key, huh?" he said, looking Neal up and down before glancing at Keller.

"Unless you want me to hunt down this girl myself," Keller snarled.

Neal couldn't help but roll his eyes again.

"Strange place to find a woman," the pigeoneer mused.

"That's what I said!"

"Will you just—" Neal finally snapped, half-turning to glare at Keller. "I told you what to say and you wouldn't stick to it. Now you won't let me fix it. If you want this key, go stand in the corner and let me get it."

Keller scowled at him, but finally stomped off towards the door, stopping a few feet shy and eyeing Neal menacingly.

With him out of earshot, Neal quickly whispered, "Estelle's not a woman. But you already know that."

"Ole blue eyes, huh?" the pigeoneer said with a smile. "Mozzie mentioned you. Didn't mention the company."

Neal shrugged. "Listen, I know Mozzie's out of state right now, too far for Estelle to reach. If you had another way to get a message to him, I'd love that. But I'd settle for a key. Any random one you've got lying around. Mozzie always said, if there was trouble… I don't even know if he meant a door key or a cypher key. I figured I'd roll with it either way," he admitted.

"Caffrey!" Keller yelled.

"I've got you," the pigeoneer nodded.

"Thank you," Neal whispered, then beckoned Keller forward. "He's getting the key."

"Really. You sure he isn't calling the cops?" Keller's hand was inching closer to the gun tucked in his waistband.

Neal scoffed. "Please, he's a friend of Mozzie's. You think he'd be skulking around on a rooftop if he was a law-abiding citizen? He's not going to call the cops any more than Mozzie would. Not that I asked him to anyway."

Keller continued to scowl for a moment before nodding and relaxing his arm. "Alright, we'll play it your way, for now. I can always come back later, tie up loose ends."

The pigeoneer was back, and he met Neal's wide-eyed gaze. Neal really hoped he got the message, and laid low for a while. Thankfully, he didn't say anything, just held out a key towards Neal. It was a standard door key, the kind that could open any kind of building in the city, and Neal adjusted his plan accordingly. He reached for it, but Keller got there first, grabbing it triumphantly.

"Alright, you've got it," Neal said. "You wanna get the door for me?" he half turned to leave.

"Hey, you see Mozzie before me, tell him he owes Estelle," the pigeoneer said, and Neal quickly nodded.

"I will, cher ami," he agreed.

"Chair a me?" Keller asked suspiciously, even as he took a step back to the door, drawing even with Neal.

"You know Mozzie," Neal explained, hobbling along beside him and doing his best to draw Keller back towards the door. "He's got nicknames for everyone, even long _lost_ friends."

"He got a nickname for me?" Keller asked as they reached the door.

"Maybe," Neal prevaricated.

Keller laughed. "I'm guessing from your tone that it's not complementary."

Neal glanced once more over his shoulder at the pigeoneer before following Keller through the door, hoping he got the message. "Can you blame him?"

As soon as they hit the elevator, Keller turned to Neal. "Alright, where to next?"

"Van Buren Airstrip," Neal said easily.

"An airstrip? We gonna fly to this treasure?" Keller scoffed.

"No," Neal gave him the 'you're an idiot' look. "But I think you'll find a certain warehouse nearby quite appealing."

"Perfectly positioned for a quick getaway," Keller realized. "Still, Flushing?"

"Just a quick dash from Brooklyn," Neal explained. "I have a secondary radius around Peter's house, and from there I can be in the air before they realize I've gone too far East."

"That's not a bad setup, Neal; I'm impressed."

"You've no idea how much that means to me," Neal deadpanned back, making Keller crack a wry smile.

oOo

"Peter, we've got something!" Sara stuck her head out of Peter's office, and beckoned him upstairs.

Abandoning Samson's desk, where Peter had been reviewing surveillance tapes, he followed her. They'd gotten a hit on a pharmacy in the Bronx, and the credit card used matched the DNA from Satchmo's victim. Neighborhood canvassing had led the NYPD to find a pool of blood and medical trash in the gutter. Samson had pulled up the traffic cam from that corner, which confirmed that Neal and Keller had been there for several hours. NYPD had just missed them! It also confirmed Neal's injury, and that he was there under duress.

Unfortunately, going back through the traffic cams and trailing the car could take another few hours, so Peter was thrilled to get the call from his brainstorming team. Entering his office, where Sara and El were crouched over the speakerphone, he asked, "Well?"

"Suit, I recognized the address from your surveillance tape," Mozzie said through the speaker. "I made a call, and a friend of mine confirmed that Neal and Keller were there. Neal used an old code phrase _brilliantly_ to maintain his ruse."

"I'm listening." Peter prompted when Mozzie paused a little longer than he'd like.

"Neal asked for a key — it was supposed to be a cypher key, but Neal got him to hand over a real key."

"What does it open?" Peter asked.

"Nothing! Well, probably _something_ , but nothing important. The point isn't what it actually opens, but what Keller _thinks_ it opens."

"He's convinced Keller that he's taking him to some storage unit where the treasure is," Sara explained. "Keller thinks they were picking up the key to the unit."

That finally made sense to Peter. "So now that they've got the key, they're heading to the storage unit. Where?"

"Neal managed to send out a clue," Mozzie sounded delighted. "World War two, France, the lost battalion, being captured, rescue messages… any of those things ringing a bell?"

Peter had that nagging feeling again, like he was missing something. It was the same feeling he'd gotten before, when listening to Neal's message on his phone. "Maybe. I just can't… hang on." Peter turned back to the door and opened it, barking, "Jones, Diana!"

Jones was upstairs first, as Diana was near the door talking to the Marshalls. "Peter, ERT found traces of cherry blossoms in your house. I told Blake to put together a team and search the area where they can be found."

"Good," Peter acknowledged. That might tell them where Keller had been, but it wouldn't tell them where Neal was leading them.

Diana arrived with a prompt, "Yes, Boss?"

"We've gotten two messages from Neal," Peter explained. "I know they're connected somehow, but I'm just not putting it together. I want everyone to listen to both of them and see what that triggers. We're the ones who know Neal the best, and the ones he was sending the messages to. We're the ones he meant to figure this out."

"Alright," Jones quickly took a seat, Diana a beat behind him.

Sara called Mozzie from her cell phone, to free up the office line, and once everyone was ready, Peter quickly played Neal's voicemail again.

_“Peter, I figured it out: _the shoe is on the other foot_. He’s going after El this time. I’m almost at your house. Peter I swear I’ll protect her. And if worst comes to worst, remember step three.”_

He let that percolate for a moment, but when no one jumped in with an idea, Peter turned to the phone. "Mozzie?"

"Oh, yes, Neal mentioned the lost french battalion in World War two. They were moments from capture, but managed to send out a message and get reinforcements."

"Anyone?" Peter asked.

"Isn't—" Everyone turned towards Jones as he hesitated. His face was screwed up in concentration. Peter found himself holding his breath. "Isn't that like what Neal said at the Gramercy Fencing Club, when Lawrence's guy found me?"

Like a lightbulb turning on, it finally clicked in Peter's brain. Step three was from the Gramercy case, when Neal had been forced to change the script to protect Jones when he was taken hostage.

_"What's step three?"_

_"Step three is you arrest him."_

_"Oh. Good thing you didn't tell him."_

_"I thought you might like that."_

"Step three!" he repeated. "You're right, Jones. Lawrence was supposed to take a boat out of dodge, but step three was that I would come in and arrest him first."

"So he's going to the harbor?" Diana asked.

"No!" Mozzie shouted. "The captured battalion! When Jones was captured, Neal had to change his plans. Remember? He called me and told me that we were putting step three into effect. Then he and I decided to reroute the sting to _Van Buren Airstrip_. I called you, Peter."

"You did," Peter remembered it well. "That's where Neal's leading him: Van Buren. Diana!"

"On it!" She jumped up and darted out the door.

"Jones, traffic cams at my house show one of Keller's thugs going on his own. If he's the transport guy, Blake's team might catch him with those cherry blossoms. If Keller gives us the slip at Van Buren…"

"Got it," Jones said, following Diana out.

Neal turned back to the two women and gave El a huge hug. "Good work, you three. I want you to stay here, where it's safe. If you get any other messages from Neal, call me."

"We will," Sara assured him, tears in her eyes. "You just bring him home."

"I will." Peter assured her.

oOo

Getting back into the car sapped the rest of Neal's energy, and he dropped off again before they'd gone more than a block. He was — yet again — rudely awakened by Keller calling his name. "Caffrey!"

"Whu?" Neal struggled to sit up, looking out the windows. They were near the airstrip; Keller clearly wanted further directions. Unfortunately, his foot was throbbing like a marching band, and he couldn't concentrate on the plan he had worked out earlier. Leaning back down, he fumbled on the floor until he found the bottles of Tylenol and Gatorade.

" _Caffrey_ ," Keller said warningly.

"Can't think," Neal mumbled, tossing back six of the pills. His liver wouldn't thank him — or was it his pancreas? — but he needed to be as alert and mobile as possible for this last part, and that meant drowning out the pain as much as he could.

Keller huffed, but gave him a few minutes, which Neal spent with his eyes closed, doing his best to breathe deeply. Once he had the nausea and screaming agony pushed back slightly, he maintained the charade for another minute, mind spinning as he tried to recall the exact phrasing he had planned to use.

Before Keller could prod him again, Neal opened his eyes and struggled to sit up again. Being upright saw the brief return of his nausea, but Neal ruthlessly held it back. "Okay, which side of the airstrip are we on?"

"The West side," Grant said.

"Okay, good, can you pull up a map of the area on your phone?"

"Why?" Keller asked suspiciously.

"Mozzie always said, 'X marks the spot,'" Neal explained.

"So we're looking for an X on the ground?" Keller snarked.

"Or a street with an X in the name, Roman Numeral 10, something like that," Neal agreed.

"So we're, what, supposed to drive around until we see something x-like?" Keller asked.

"Well I thought looking at the map first would make more sense…"

Keller snorted. "Always count on Mozzie to do it the most complicated way."

"So can I see the map?"

"I'm not handing you a phone, Caffrey," Keller said.

"There was a gas station one block back," Grant spoke up, to Neal's surprise. "They might have a map."

Keller thought about that for a moment before nodding. "Do it."

Neal took the short reprieve to gather his strength, while Keller poked around on his own phone, muttering.

Once Grant returned with the map, Neal carefully spread it out on his lap. "Okay, that's what I thought," he said after a minute. "I knew that there were crossed runways here, but there are no warehouses near the center, because that space is cleared for the planes. Same with the large Xes they put on the end of runways that are out of use. At least, there's nothing _above ground_."

"You think Mozzie hauled a bunch of crates to the middle of the runway in the dead of night and buried them there?" Keller scoffed.

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of underground infrastructure, like most airports have," Neal said sarcastically. "Either that, or… here." He tapped the hanger that they had used during the Gramercy case. "I think there's an X on this building."

"Well, let's go check that out first," Keller said, "before we go digging up any runways."

Neal offered the map to Grant, who looked at the building he identified and nodded, then quickly started the car. As they approached the first guard gate, Neal had to hide his relieved sigh. The guard was being played by Greg Samson. If Greg was here, then both Peter and Bryce must know where he was.

His relief evaporated when he saw Keller shift in his seat. "No guns," he whispered sternly.

"Seriously, Caffrey?" he protested.

Neal reached up and poked him in the shoulder. "No guns, Keller."

"Fine," Keller let out a put-upon sigh and shook his head. "What happened to you, Neal?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Neal shot back as Grant stopped at the gate and rolled down his window.

Samson barely glanced at them before looking back down at his phone. "Where you headed?" He asked in a bored voice.

"Building ten," Neal piped up.

"No detours, don't drive on the runways, check in with security before you enter the terminal," Samson recited, then buzzed the gate open. "Have a nice day."

"You too," Grant said, pulling forward at a measured pace. As soon as the window was rolled back up, Neal poked Keller's shoulder again. "See, no guns needed."

As Keller sighed again, it occured to Neal that he might have taken one Tylenol too many, if he thought that poking Keller was a good idea. He really needed Bryce to teach him how to resist drugs that would make him loopy, the way the CIA had taught Bryce.

As it turned out, building 10 was two buildings past the one they had used for Lawrence's flight. Neal was just relieved that there _was_ a building 10, and that it was in roughly the right area. "Alright let's go," Keller demanded as the car stopped.

Keller and Grant both got out of the car, and for one minute Neal thought they were going to leave him there, but then Grant opened the door by his feet, and Neal had to grab his crutches and drag himself out of the car. Keller was already walking towards the building, and Neal did his best to lag behind, slowly crutching along. With both of his captors ahead of him and focused on the door, Neal risked a glance around, seeing snipers in position on the roof behind him. Neal quickly amended his plan.

"Damn it!" he heard Keller exclaim when he was halfway there. "This isn't the right key, Neal!" he growled, stalking a few steps towards Neal and reaching for his gun.

Neal stopped where he was and put on a thinking expression. "Maybe that isn't the right door? Is there another one? Maybe we have to go in the big doors and find a little one inside? Or… Is this… this is building ten, right?" Neal made a show of spinning to look around him, overbalancing, and toppling over.

Though he had done a controlled fall, protecting his foot as best he could, the drop still knocked the air out of Neal. He managed to look up in time to see Keller stalking towards him, gun ready. Then the shot rang out and Keller dropped the gun, clutching his shoulder.

Dozens of voices shouted variations of "FBI, freeze!" as they swarmed around the corner and through the now open door. Grant immediately gave up, putting his hands on his head. Neal reached out with the crutch that wasn't trapped below him and nudged Keller's gun further away from him even as Diana and Peter converged on their position.

"Peter! You remembered step three!" Neal said as brightly as he was able.

"The part where I arrest him," Peter agreed, holding his gun on Keller as Diana wrenched his arms behind his back.

As soon as Keller was secured, Peter holstered his gun and dropped down to Neal's side. "Thank you," he said forcefully, grabbing Neal's arm, "for saving El."

"Of course, Peter," Neal agreed. Now that the adrenaline was leaving his system, he was starting to feel like he might puke again.

"And Neal," Peter drew his attention back.

"Hnm?"

"Don't ever do that again."

"What, take off my anklet? That wasn't exactly my choice," Neal explained, waving vaguely at his foot. Why was the bandage red?

As Neal's vision began to tunnel, he heard Peter scoff. "Yeah, because _that's_ what I meant."

Pleased that Peter understood, Neal let the darkness take him again.

oOo

When visiting hours were over, Neal was actually grateful that the nurses shooed away Peter and the others. He really was incredibly tired, like he told them when they offered to stay. More importantly, Samson had slipped a phone into his pocket in the ambulance, and Neal knew what was coming.

As soon as the nurse finished replacing his IV bag and removing his dinner tray and left, the phone rang. Neal flipped it open and skipped his usual greeting. "Peter, El, and Sara have already yelled at me; you don't need to," he said tiredly.

"I don't intend to yell at you," Bryce said cheerfully.

"Really?" Neal wasn't positive he believed that. Sara had also claimed that she wasn't going to yell at him, but three sentences later she was crying and shouting.

"I know you better than them," Bryce explained simply. "As soon as you realized he was going after an innocent I knew you'd try to take her place."

"Well.. good," Neal's thinking was fuzzy from whatever had just been put in his IV, but it sounded like a good comeback to him.

"I was following you on traffic cams in real time, too," Bryce explained. "I gave Peter a nudge when he needed it, but NYPD was too slow to catch you at the dovecote."

"I knew, when I saw Samson," Neal confessed. "I knew you were there, watching, somewhere."

"Next time I'll try to get you out before you go and get yourself shot," Bryce promised.

Neal could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew how to respond to that. "Like you're… one to talk…" He fell asleep to Bryce's laughter.

oOo

Neal's first day back in the office — still on crutches and restricted to desk duty, but sick of Bryce hovering over him at home — found him quickly called up to Peter's office.

"What's up?" Neal asked as he sank tiredly into the chair in front of Peter's desk.

Peter picked up a paper from his inbox and showed it to Neal. "This is a letter from the U.S. probation office. It is to inform you that a hearing has been scheduled concerning your probation. Because of your outstanding service, including sacrificing yourself for an agent's family and catching Keller, the U.S. probation office is convening a hearing to discuss the commutation of your sentence."

"What does that mean?" Neal was no longer taking high enough doses of painkillers to impede his thinking, but the wall of bureaucrat-speak had still hit him cold.

Peter smiled widely. "It means no anklet. No nothing. In three months, you could be a free man."


End file.
